I Drove a Close Friend of the Family to the Emergency Room – and he went from unwell to barely responsive on the way.
He has always been a man of a truly outsized figure. Sharp and not prone to sentiment – and never one to refuse to an extra drink. At family parties, he’s the one gossiping about the newest uproar to catch up with a regional politician, or amusing us with accounts of the notorious womanizing of assorted players from the local club over the past 40 years.
It was common for us to pass the holiday morning with him and his family, before going our separate ways. Yet, on a particular Christmas, about 10 years ago, when he was planning to join family abroad, he took a fall on the steps, whisky in one hand, his luggage in the other, and sustained broken ribs. The hospital had patched him up and instructed him to avoid flying. Consequently, he ended up back with us, trying to cope, but seeming progressively worse.
As Time Passed
Time passed, yet the anecdotes weren’t flowing as they usually were. He insisted he was fine but his condition seemed to contradict this. He tried to make it upstairs for a nap but was unable to; he tried, cautiously, to eat Christmas lunch, and was unsuccessful.
Thus, prior to me managing to put on a festive hat, we resolved to get him to the hospital.
The idea of calling for an ambulance crossed our minds, but what would the wait time be on Christmas Day?
A Deteriorating Condition
Upon our arrival, he had moved from being poorly to hardly aware. Other outpatients helped us get him to a ward, where the distinctive odor of clinical cuisine and atmosphere filled the air.
The atmosphere, however, was unique. People were making brave attempts at Christmas spirit everywhere you looked, notwithstanding the fundamental depressing and institutional feel; tinsel hung from drip stands and bowls of Christmas pudding congealed on bedside tables.
Upbeat nursing staff, who certainly would have chosen to be at home, were working diligently and using that great term of endearment so peculiar to the area: “duck”.
A Quiet Journey Back
Once the permitted time ended, we made our way home to lukewarm condiments and Christmas telly. We viewed something silly on television, perhaps a detective story, and took part in a more foolish pastime, such as a local version of the board game.
It was already late, and snow was falling, and I remember experiencing a letdown – did we lose the holiday?
Recovery and Retrospection
Even though he ultimately healed, he had in fact suffered a punctured lung and subsequently contracted DVT. And, even if that particular Christmas isn’t a personal favourite, it has become part of family legend as “the Christmas I saved a life”.
Whether that’s strictly true, or a little bit of dramatic licence, I am not in a position to judge, but its annual retelling certainly hasn’t hurt my ego. True to his favorite phrase: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.
